


LOVE Spelled Backwards is EV(I)OL

by xiujaemin



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Death, Fluff and Humor, Horror, M/M, Magic, senseless palindromes and complete lack of talent, spellbound au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-18 21:19:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10625352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiujaemin/pseuds/xiujaemin
Summary: A memory buried six feet below the ground, a face that can only be recalled through dried up tears and choked sobs, a name spoken only in whispers; that was what he had become.





	1. Chapter 1

∞∝∞∝

Chanyeol brings out a deck of cards from his pants pocket, splaying the cards out on top of his left palm for the crowd to see. “A few years ago, someone asked me a question,” he bends down a bit so that the people in front of the makeshift platform he was standing on could have a better view of the cards. “How do you do magic?”

A little girl who appears to be around the age of seven steps forward, her tiny fingers gripping the edge of the wooden platform in anticipation, eyes twinkling with an inexorable level of eagerness. He smiles at the little girl, showing off a row of perfectly-aligned pearly white teeth — contrasting with the fact that most of the people gathered in that place probably thought that he was just some random junkie, or maybe a hobo who may have had a few tricks up his sleeve that had decided to liven it up a bit by becoming a street performer. “Well: how?”

Chanyeol stands up straighter and arranges the cards into a single deck, neatly shuffling them before tucking them carefully in his hands to keep them in order. “Well, as far as I could remember, there are only three steps to that,” the look on the faces of several people says that they couldn’t care less; some look at him sternly, as if channeling their thoughts to him that they wouldn’t believe a single thing he says. The children, however, were straining their ears to hear more of what he had to say, craning their necks to see every move that he would make.

A lot of times, Chanyeol misses being a kid: it was easier to believe then, easier to dispel the thoughts of hesitation bugging his mind. At this time in life, it was easy to doubt everything, as people his age would always judge things based on cold, hard facts, not wanting to believe in anything that they couldn’t see with their naked eyes.

“First, you would have to close your eyes.” He himself closes his eyes at this point, and he doesn’t need to take a peek to know that the children were closing their eyes, too. Chanyeol is able to sense that even some teenagers and a few adults are joining them, even though those who chose to keep their eyes wide open are giving them looks of indifference. Maybe these people just did it for the heck of it, but maybe it was also because that some part of them still believed, too, as much as he and the children did. Or at least, that was what Chanyeol was thinking.

“The second step is for you to take a deep breath,” he is not able to help but smile as he hears a collective amount of people taking deep breaths along with his own. “And the third… well, that’s the hardest part. You see,” he opens his eyes and blinks, adjusting his vision to accommodate the harsh lights focusing on him. “You have to open your eyes,” he waits for the people open their eyes just as he said before finishing his little speech. “And just… _believe_.”

His hands immediately move to the deck cupped in his hands. He shakes it once, twice, thrice for good measure, and opens his cupped hands, only to come up empty-handed, with not a single card in sight. Murmurs come from the crowd, buzzing in his ears as bees during spring would. However, he still has another trick up his sleeve.

He positions his right hand parallel to his body and waves it sideways, slowly at first. Once, twice, thrice, and with a flick of a wrist, a card appears,wedged in between his index and middle fingers. He does it for another one, two, three times, and after three more cards appear, he splays his hands in the general direction of the audience in a grand gesture, and a whole bunch of cards pours out of his previously empty hands, raining on the crowd, all having the same marks on the back as the other cards he kept showing earlier had, and with a single silver ‘C’ circumscribed inside a silver circle at the other side, where the card’s number was supposed to be.

A familiar figure slips silently past the crowd, stopping by in front of the stage to give him a knowing smile. Chanyeol spots him immediately, clad in skintight jeans, a glittering blue jacket donned over his plain black shirt. One would never miss such a sight, after all. Funny how someone changes in the course of a year, when all you ever used to want was for the day to end immediately, to click the fast forward button and get to the point of it all. But now, after everything that had happened, he knows that what matters the most is the present. Because once you pass by the opportunity, it will never come by again. Lightning never strikes the same place twice, right?

“Oh look: here he is.”Chanyeol smiles back, and in the eyes of the person that was grinning back at him in a mesmerized manner, despite the cold weather and the fact that is nighttime already, Chanyeol was, and will always be the rising sun: always beaming, always giving warmth, always shining brighter than anyone ever does.

But of course, there would always come a time that the sun would set, its brilliant glow dimming.

∞∝∞∝

Chanyeol lives for the applause. Well, not literally. He had been brought into this world crying because of a few pats on the butt as all babies do, after all. He was even born to a rich family of business tycoons: his father being a corporate mogul at some company that he didn’t care to know about, his mother an entrepreneur, running a restaurant with the help of his older sister. Yet the gratifying feeling he gets whenever he hears the approbation of almost a hundred people gathered in front of him every night shown through collective claps and uplifting cheers was nothing compared to the number of things he could buy in exchange for signed checks and the _cha-chings_ of cash registers when swiped with black credits cards.

For a start, he performs the most basic trick of them all: a simple sleight of hand, making a card disappear and reappear in his hand. The children in the crowd are amazed, the older ones simply amused. A voice breaks through the cheers from the cluster of people, shattering the jovial atmosphere. “That’s just a simple trick; it’s easy to do that.”

All heads turn to face the person that uncouthly interrupted the show. A man wearing a sweater a few sizes too large for him that looks as if it was handed down to him by an uncle decades older than he is was in plain sight, not being able to hide from the judgmental stares that the people were giving him. The man covered his mouth, eyes widening in shock as what he did registered in his brain. It was but a slip of tongue, to be blamed for his inability to have complete control over the things he says out loud.

Chanyeol smiles at him in an attempt to cover up the whole situation. “Is it possible then that you show to us how it is properly done, Mr…?” he ends with an inquisitive look, not knowing what name he’s supposed to address the stranger with.

The stranger huffs indignantly, pride hurt by the challenge. “Byun. Byun Baekhyun,” he declares. “And I pretty much well know how to perform a basic magic trick, thank you very much.”

“Very well then, Mr. Byun, I’m Chanyeol. But that’s not very important right now,” Chanyeol’s smile widens, and the guy— Baekhyun —is not sure if he’s supposed to be irritated by the look the magician was giving him, or crept out by that blinding smile. Maybe because the street performer was, by so far, the most handsome creature that he had come across with. “And please, don’t tell us: show us.”

“Oh yeah, well maybe I will,” Baekhyun mumbles, and the crowd parts as quickly as Moses had parted the red sea, making way so that the daring male would be able to pass by. He places both hands on the dusty, wooden makeshift stage and hoists himself up, ignoring the magician’s hand in the process in the latter’s attempt to help him. He rolls up the sleeves of his sweater, showing quite an expanse of milky white skin, and Chanyeol is not able to resist the urge to stare at Baekhyun’s beautiful fingers as the man thrusts his open palm in front of Chanyeol for the magician to hand the deck of cards over.

Chanyeol gets a grip of himself and figuratively slaps himself awake as he hands the deck of cards to the waiting hand of Baekhyun. Baekhyun’s hands move gracefully as he shuffles the deck, picks up a card, and shows it to the crowd. _Ace of Diamonds_.He places the card on the flat on top of his palm, vertical to his pulse, with the white surface marked in red face-up. He wedges the edges of the card between his pinkie and ring finger, and then between his middle and index finger respectively, and with nimble digits, flips the card so that it was then hidden at the back of his hand. He repeats the motion, bringing the card forward.

“Magic is only magic because of the grandiose hand gestures that these people make,” Baekhyun starts, glancing at Chanyeol. “With fast hands, a flick of a wrist, a tap,” he taps the card on his palm, “and a snap,” he snaps the fingers of his free hand, a grin starting to spread on his face as he performs the trick with such speed that the audience wasn’t able to see his sleight of hand. “Abracadabra.”

The people shake their heads in disbelief, some walking away with smug grins on their faces, I-told-you-so’s coming from their lips, while some looked downright disappointed, the feeling of their childhood being taken away from them imminent in the cold winter air.

The smile on Baekhyun’s face falters as he sees the unequivocally sad expression on Chanyeol’s face at a ruined show, his future prospects of hearing more applauses meant for him gradually slimming down in front of his eyes. Baekhyun didn’t know what to say, so he fumbles for the hem of his sweatshirt with one hand as he hands back the deck of cards to Chanyeol with the other. “I-I’m sorry about your show, I was just trying to prove my point—“

The deck of cards mockingly swims in Chanyeol’s vision. “And did you?” he says quietly, staring at the cards as if he could set it on fire just by looking at it, intent on not looking at Baekhyun.

Baekhyun blinks in confusion. “Did I….?”

“Prove your point,” Chanyeol finishes numbly. The look of disappointment on those children’s eyes were haunting him.  
Baekhyun nibbles at his bottom lip, squirming in discomfort and fiddling with a loose thread hanging at the hem of his sweater. “For a while, I thought so. But now… I’m not quite sure.”

The winter wind blows, making the two shiver as they are immersed in awkward silence. Finally, Baekhyun speaks up, breaking the taciturn atmosphere. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

That was all Chanyeol needed. “Be my assistant. For a hundred days.”

Baekhyun’s eyes widened. “C’mon, you can’t be serious about that!”

Chanyeol looks at him—really looks at him—for the first time, and thinks that the man also had beautiful eyes that all the while makes him look more beautiful, despite his ratty sweater and jeans. “Do I look like I’m joking?”  
“Oh, c’mon!” disbelief flits over Baekhyun’s face. “Magic isn’t even real!”

Chanyeol gives him the evil eye. “Yes, it is.”

“Then how do you do magic?” Baekhyun asks him. He only comes up with three, but it was enough.

∞∝∞∝

Baekhyun wakes up with a start, sweaty and panting from another nightmare. He wipes away the cold beads of perspiration that had formed in his forehead and covers his face, pressing his slim fingers at the sides of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. “Not this shit again,” he groans.

Eight years ago, he had made a mantra. This time, he repeats the mantra once more, again and again until he was welcomed once more by his subconscious, the darkness of oblivion draping over him like a second skin—a curtain pulled down after the end of a show.

_“Tear away the pages of that book. Throw them away. Don’t ever look back. Forget.  
And start all over again.”_

But he never gets halfway through following his mantra, for the past always has ways of catching up on him.  
He doesn’t sleep peacefully that night. But then again, when did he ever?

∞∝∞∝

Has it already been 100 days? Both Baekhyun and Chanyeol had lost count already. But did that still even matter anymore?

“Can you believe it Jongdae? He just keeps bugging me every single night to have dinner with him and the other show’s staff. I mean, can he just not get a hint?” Baekhyun chats animatedly over the phone, as if he was actually talking in front of his friend Jongdae. They’ve been close friends since middle school, but they weren’t seeing much of each other for the past eight years. Not ever since that incident.

Jongdae stops scribbling on his notebook and sets the pen down as he rolls his eyes sardonically. “Oh stop it Baek, don’t be such a prima donna. I know that you like him. I can smell it from here.”

He smiles when he senses Baekhyun fluster. Even if they haven’t seen each other for a long time, they’ve been friends for quite some time that he knows how Baekhyun reacts to the things he says. “No I don’t like him. And no, I’m not being a prima donna, I’m just being practical.” He could practically feel Baekhyun’s face heating up, as if they were simply seated down in a café in front of one another, espressos in hand as Jongdae listens to every Baekhyun’s chatter. “You know the situation I’m in.”

“Wow, practical. Big word. Listen to yourself, Mr. Byun Baekhyun. Do you hear it? Do you hear the complaints that every definition of the word ‘practical’ from every legit dictionary that exists are spluttering out? Because last time I checked, buying clothes from luxury brands to wear for a date and then ending up not wearing them anyway isn’t the practical way.”

“That was eight years ago Jongdae,” there was an edge to Baekhyun’s voice, and Jongdae knew that he’s hit a spot, leaving Baekhyun to reminisce the past again. “A lot of things have changed.”

Jongdae sighs. Why did _that_ even have to happen? And why did it have to be Baekhyun, of all people? “Listen, Baek, friendly advice: please stop cooping yourself up inside your house.”

Baekhyun shifts to make himself more comfortable in his position seated in the couch, television turned on despite the fact that no one was watching it, remote carelessly tossed beside a throw pillow near him. He glances at the picture delicately framed and placed on top of a mahogany table beside his 14-inched television screen. Three people smiled back at him from that picture. He shivers, knowing well he wouldn’t be able to see even the ghost of a smile of one of those people anymore.

“I _am_ going out, Jongdae. I have a job. How do you think I’m paying for my food?”

Jongdae grins from the great amounts of sarcasm that was dripping from Baekhyun’s voice. Some things never change. “Are you kidding me? You might be going out, but when was the last time you interacted with anyone?” Baekhyun almost answers back, but Jongdae cuts him off just in time, knowing very well what his retort would be. “No, you’re obviously only talking to other people when they are either asking for directions or are talking to you regarding your job.”

Baekhyun groans inwardly. “When did you even get to have so much insight? Are you stalking me?”

Jongdae laughs and Baekhyun’s lips twitch to form a small smile. He rubs his forehead and closes his eyes, remembering the times when everything was just plain monochrome and not a bunch of interlocking color wheels. Baekhyun blames himself for trying too hard to come up with a nice portrait of his life, trying so hard to make it look so beautiful and experimenting with every tube of paint he could get his hands on but ending up smudging everything up in the process and making it look a lot more than worse. He blames himself for wishing for his life to stop staying a plain shade of black and white and for it to start having his desired splashes of color, even though he knew that might not achieve the perfect rainbow painting that he has always wanted. He always regrets trying to color up his life, for the canvas has turned black from all the paint he has desperately poured out. Now, all he wishes is to be able to erase the blotches of gray in the canvass dipped in all black and start anew.

“Ew no, why would I stalk you?” Jongdae scoffs. “I’m too fabulous for that. And I think you already know the reason why I have such great insight.”

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow. “Because you’re a twat?”

“No, that’s you. You’ve been quite forgetful. It’s all because I am the epitome of epic-ness.”

Baekhyun howls in laughter. “I’m pretty sure you’re just imagining things. AGAIN.” _Just like all those times_ , he almost adds, but somehow, he felt the air shift, leaving cold trails in its wake and sending shivers down his spine.

Something shifts in the shadows, and Baekhyun’s smile falters, thinking that he’s seeing things again. But that’s not really the case, because he’s _always_ seeing things, and wouldn’t that make him qualified to be a nut job? “Uhm, I’ll call you back, okay.” He turns off his phone before Jongdae could even protest.

Baekhyun stands up and walks forward, looking from left to right. A sudden gleam catches his eye, and he turns to its direction, only to bump his leg in the edge of the table. He rubs the sore spot and bends lower, coming face-to-face with the picture frame. Baekhyun was in the middle and Jongdae was on his left. But it was the man on the right side of his picture that catches his attention. The man suddenly moves and beckons him forward, eyes boring into his skull, staring at him gravely.

Baekhyun falls on his butt and screams, scrambling to get away as fast as he can.

∞∝∞∝

A memory buried six feet below the ground, a face that can only be recalled through dried up tears and choked sobs, a name spoken only in whispers; that was what Do Kyungsoo had become.

But to ByunBaekhyun, Kyungsoo was, and is, late night visits from an old friend that has a sickly pallor, skin looking like chalk that could be broken down to sediments anytime, always wearing the same clothes from 8 years ago, and always, always dripping wet.

∞∝∞∝

When Jongdae had advised him to try out having his fortune told by a certain Zhang Yixing, he wasn’t expecting a skinny guy clad in white overalls, as if he was going to get a painting job done and decided on the last minute to go wear a pair of wings made out of cotton and tissue paper stuck on cardboard that spanned longer than his arms, the central part attached to brown leather tightly strapped around his shoulders for good measure, to greet him in front of a booth that seemed no bigger than a stall in a comfort room. It looked like he wore it to some costume party years back and decided to use the opportunity to recycle it. Baekhyun thinks he might have contemplated on wearing a halo attached to a headband at some point.

Baekhyun returns the man’s dimply smile with his own uneasy one, making a note to send Kyungsoo’s wrath upon Jongdae so that he could suffer the same fate. Yixing ushers Baekhyun inside the booth specifically made for Yixing’s divination (or so he was told), and Baekhyun puts his head down, determined not to let the people milling around in front of the booth see him (but knowing that the booth was cramped in a small space at the farthest corner of Yixing’s dance studio while his students are still doing warm-up exercises, staring at them from moment they entered, Baekhyun knew that it would have to be categorized as unsuccessful).Baekhyun made another mental note to stab Jongdae for not telling him beforehand that he would have to deal with a dance instructor confused of where to put up his divining booth for a sideline.

The wooden beads hanging in the doorway jingle as he enters and he is painfully reminded of the witch doctor that he had consulted over three years ago, the awful smell coming from the smoke of the old man’s tobacco still lingering in his nose. He recalls the minty scent of the rosemary plant that the old man had chopped up and burned in offering, and almost laughed upon finding out in the internet that the man used the wrong plant for exorcising.

Baekhyun takes a seat on top of a fluffy purple cushion printed with unicorn patterns as Yixing had indicated him to, and in moments, he comes face-to-face with a dimpled guy that very much reminds him of an angel that he frequently sees in movies, albeit the costume. Yixing claps his hands together. “Okay then, shall we begin?”Baekhyun nods in approval.

“I see darkness,” his eyes were closed, and Baekhyun had to pinch his arm to stop himself from saying that out loud. “Nothing but darkness—a great expanse of black, and nothing more. You need to offer a dance to the gods and send a silent prayer for them to help me see through the future better.” Baekhyun stares at Yixing, dumbfounded.

Yixing cracks an eye open, only enough to check if Baekhyun was moving or not. “So, are you going to do it or not?”  
Baekhyun heaves a sigh, all rational thought leaving him. “I suppose,” he stands up, stretching his arms and legs in the process. “What dance do I have to do?”

“SNSD’s Genie.”Yixing mumbles, eyes still closed.

“What. WHAT. WHAAAAT??!”

Yixing’s eyes flutter open. “Shush, stop yelling. It ruins the peaceful vibe. It’s either that, or Sistar’s Ma Boy,” he raises an eyebrow at Baekhyun. “But either way, I’m okay. I’m cool with seeing you do body rolls and choosing them over a dance that I’ve seen loads of times already.”

Baekhyun sighs. Jongdae better pay for getting him into this mess.With his life, preferably.And an all-you-can-eat buffet in a fancy restaurant.

“Ah, now I’m seeing it!” Yixing’s hands begin to tremble on top of the table as soon as Baekhyun had started dancing. “Kyungsoo’s mad. Really mad.As in fuming mad.” Baekhyun scoffs. As if the nightly visits that he receives from Kyungsoo isn’t enough proof of that. “He’ll kill you. Probably in a few months or so.The end. That’ll be a hundred bucks, by the way.” Yixing stands abruptly and Baekhyun almost chokes with his own spit from the diviner’s boldness, when the man has even hardly got him anything done.

“I’m so done with you, Kim Jongdae.” Baekhyun mutters over the phone as he goes out of the booth, Jongdae’s number flashing on the screen as the phone of the dialed number rings. The only thing that had happened today was that he came up a hundred dollars short from when he came in.

∞∝∞∝

Baekhyun shoves the door close right in front of Chanyeol’s face. “You’re not welcome here, go away.”

Chanyeol simply chuckles. “But I’m your boss.”

Chanyeol hears a distinct, “Today’s a Saturday, so technically that’s not the case,” Chanyeol sighs, turning the doorknob to the right. He hears a click, signaling that the door has opened. He pushes it open, letting himself in, surprised that Baekhyun hasn’t thought of locking the door up or blocking it with his body. He sees Baekhyun staring off into the distance, facing a great expanse of land outside his window. “Baek?” he calls.

Baekhyun almost jumps up in surprise. “How’d you get in?”

“Uhm, I used the door?” Chanyeol tilts his head to the side, an amused smile playing on his lips.

Baekhyun slits his eyes, a look of accusation clearly written all over his face. “You broke in, didn’t you?” It was not a question, but simply a statement; a declaration of facts that might be observed from miles away.

Chanyeol clutched at his heart, feigning a look of hurt. “I am offended that you think of me that way,” to which Baekhyun mutters an “Oh don’t think you’re so special, I treat everyone this way,” in response. Chanyeol rolls his eyes. “You left the door unlocked, dimwit.”

Baekhyun gives him a sidelong glance. Judging, contemplating. Believing that Park Chanyeol deserves to have his instagram account unfollowed and blocked. “Says the one who trips on his own shoes and chokes on air,” He moves to toward Chanyeol and curtsies in mockery. “So what can I do for you, dear good sir? It would be my honor and privilege to serve you.”

Chanyeol scoffs indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest. “May I remind you that I could get you fired any time of the day?” _And if it wasn’t for me, no one would’ve even thought of following you on twitter._

Baekhyun’s eyebrow cocks up with jeer. “I’d like to see you try.” He turns to leave, with Chanyeol muttering “God, you’re such an insufferable brat, why do I keep putting up with you?” But Baekhyun calls midway through the door leading to another room, asking “What drink would you want?”

Chanyeol’s eyes widen in realization at what Baekhyun had asked, because whenever Baekhyun was done serving the purpose of being his assistant, the guy was either avoiding him like the plague or being a repulsive little piece of shit. This was a new development in their relationship, Chanyeol thinks. Maybe he will have something to look forward to in their next show.

His thoughts is disturbed by a faint squeak beside him, and he is surprised when he turns to see that there is a girl standing only a few meters away from him, hands covering half of her face in embarrassment. She is standing by the coat rack, long, blonde hair falling perfectly over her shoulders.

Chanyeol is left dumbstruck at the girl’s presence. As far as he knows, Baekhyun doesn’t have any friends. But then again, he doesn’t know Baekhyun that much, really. Except for the fact that Baekhyun was a 24 year old guy that only wears sweats even when he goes out and about (with the only exception being the times when they have a show because no way in hell would Chanyeol let Baekhyun stand beside him and help him with tricks while wearing clothes that look more like rags), he still remains as an enigmatic presence. “Oh hello there,” Chanyeol gives her a smile that he hopes is kind and reassuring enough to not scare her off, “I’m sorry, I haven’t noticed you earlier. What’s your name?”

The girl simply stares at him, unmoving. Chanyeol sheepishly grins and scratches the back of his head, embarrassed. “I’m Chanyeol, by the way. I’m Baekhyun’s friend. Or something like that,” he licks his lips, a habit he usually displays whenever he’s nervous or is trying to break the tension in the air, “Are you his friend too?”

The girl lets down her hands offering him a timid smile, and Chanyeol thinks that _damn, this girl is quite a beauty_. But she didn’t strike him as someone who he’d court, much unlike the impact that Baekhyun had made when they first met. He mentally slaps himself for thinking about that last part. “You could… say that.”

Chanyeol’s grin widens when she answers, thanking his social skills that made the unease in the air fade away. “I’m Hyoyeon, by the way.” She casually says, now looking more comfortable than she’s been earlier. The sound of glass breaking disrupts the friendly vibe coursing between them, and Chanyeol turns to find Baekhyun standing by the doorway of what he had assumed as the kitchen, hands covering his mouth, expression unreadable.

Chanyeol dashes off to him. “Baek, are you alright? Are you hurt somewhere?” a crunching sound makes its way to Chanyeol’s ears as he steps on shards of broken glass, orange liquid ebbing around it. “Aish, Baekhyun. How many times do I have to tell you to be careful? Wait here, I’m going to go get something to clean this up.” He totters to the door, trying to navigate his way around an unfamiliar kitchen.

As Chanyeol turns to leave, he doesn’t notice the sudden shift in the atmosphere, the temperature going down several degrees lower as Baekhyun tries the hardest not to gag at the sight in front of him.

A woman with long blonde hair framing her face is looking back at him, and he could still see her beauty despite the long gash that runs along her forehead and the gaping wounds in her stomach, probably caused by several stabs from a knife. She smiles at him, and he could see her aura shift, changing into something much more sinister than what he usually sees on people. _She is a ghost_.All of the alarms in his mind start going off, alerting him of danger.

A trickle of blood suddenly drips from a corner of her mouth, and her smile widens, only to show blood-drenched teeth. The blood continues to flow from the corners of her mouth, and Baekhyun’s hands tremble in fear, even though this wasn’t the first time that he has dealt with beings like her.

Her mouth moves to form words, coming out as more of a croak than an actual sentence. Help me.

∞∝∞∝

Chanyeol turns to face the direction he had come from, a playful smile on his lips. “Are you following me?” the girl’s eyes widen in shock at the knowledge that she had been discovered (although her stalking skills were too poor and she was too obvious to not be discovered). She shakes her head furiously before running away, back to Baekhyun’s house. Chanyeol laughs and shakes his head, amused at how his new acquaintance is behaving. He continues walking and rides his car, a smile still playing itself on his lips. He muses when he’ll go back to Baekhyun’s house to pester him once more. He settles for a week as he pulls out of the driveway, humming to a tune that sounds way too familiar.

If he had just looked at the rear view mirror, he would’ve seen the girl stopping at the doorsteps of Baekhyun home and walking back the way she had come, trailing behind Chanyeol’s car in slow, easy paces, blood dripping from the hem of her skirt down to the stone pavement.

∞∝∞∝

Byun Baekhyun smiles widely to something he had just said and it was all he could do not to jump in happiness, for it was one of these rare moments that he sees Baekhyun completely happy. Baekhyun laughs and touches his arm, but because of what, he couldn’t remember. But at this moment, he is contented with hearing Baekhyun’s laugh and having Baekhyun near him. He hopes this doesn’t end.

But his wish was in vain, for the person in front of him was suddenly Hyoyeon, the girl that he had met earlier at Baekhyun’s apartment. He takes a step back, alarmed at the sudden change, stuttering nonsense. But she doesn’t seem to notice him, and she continues to frantically look around, as if she was in search of something. He hears screams from behind her, and they both look back to see a round, balding guy in his mid-fifties lumbering towards their direction, a sharp knife in hand. She looks back at him, cries of help ripping the peaceful aura of the meadow they were in. She runs, and he runs alongside her, screaming with her, asking her to please explain what the fuck was happening because he has no fucking idea what he has gotten himself into.

But alas, Hyoyeon trips upon a tree branch, and Chanyeol doesn’t need to be a doctor to know that she sprains her ankle in the process. The man licks his lips, laughing a maniacal laugh that strangely sounds like screeching tires and conspiring crows to Chanyeol’s ears.

Hyoyeon pushes herself up with shaking arms, ignoring the sharp pain in her ankle and walking limply across the meadow. Chanyeol rushes to her aid, thinking that she could escape faster if he carried her on his back, but it was of no use, for an invisible barrier kept them apart, Chanyeol hitting it head-on before he could figure out its existence. He slams his hands at the unseen barrier, fists clenching as the pounding gets stronger. But he couldn’t do anything as the man easily catches up to Hyoyeon, grabbing her by the wrist and forcing her to lie on the ground. Chanyeol could merely watch in horror as she struggles to free herself from the man’s forceful grip, pouring every ounce of energy she has left on fending him off. Annoyed, the man picks up a large stone about the size of his palm and drives it down her forehead with a loud crunch, rendering her unconscious.

Chanyeol’s stomach protests at such a gruesome sight, and he kneels on the ground, clutching his stomach as he pukes out his dinner. Tears brim his vision and he closes his eyes, believing that he should calm himself down first before trying to act up on the situation. He wipes his mouth dry with the back of a wobbly hand, the acid from his stomach threatening to clog his throat once more. He keeps his eyes closed as he hears the sound of shuffling and moaning, and more of that as the man throws away Hyoyeon’s dignity with a snap of a finger. Chanyeol’s body trembles and he sinks lower on the ground, remembering the way Hyoyeon had smiled up at him that day. He feels sick to the core, disgusted by how a man could behave.

Scientists had said that humans were the best—the superior race above all from kingdom Animalia, but take away all the comfort and luxury he’s been living with and give him a trigger to start from, doesn’t he become even worse than the wild apes of the Amazon? Doesn’t he act more savagely than the predators of the Savannah?

His head snaps up when he hears a scream—or more like a roar—escape the man’s lips, and he spots a shadow lurking behind a tree before it stalks off, away from the meadow and toward the deeper recesses of the forest, the bestial man running in pursuit of his new victim. Of course, there shouldn’t be any witnesses left to fight off against him, right?

Chanyeol takes this as his cue to run to Hyoyeon and sure enough, the barrier was gone. He kneels down beside her body, disgusted at himself for not being able to help her out. The kindness that he once saw in her features disappeared, her eyes turning into glassy orbs, staring blankly far beyond him. His hand hovers above her face, wanting to close her eyes to make it look as if she was just sleeping, but he stops dead cold when a hand clamps tightly around his wrist.

He looks down to find a bloody hand, a gold ring gleaming in one of its fingers. _It was Hyoyeon’s._

He pulls his hand back in great shock and lands butt-first on the grass.

Help me, the word echoes in his mind from her pursed lips. Help me, pleads her blank eyes. Help me, a voice buzzes in the meadows. Help me, the wind blows harshly in his direction. Chanyeol does what every sane man stuck in his position would do.

He screams.

∞∝∞∝

He wakes up panting, perspiration covering his entire torso, beads of sweat trickling down his face. He looks around to find out that yes, it had only been a nightmare, and yes, he’s still tucked in his blue bed sheet, sleeping on his insanely comfortable bed in his insanely incredible room.

He reaches over and flicks the switch of the lampshade on top of his bedside table on just to make sure. Light floods the four corners of his room, and his breathing slows down to a steady rhythm as he calms himself down, telling himself over and over again that it had just been a nightmare. Everyone had had their fair share of nightmares, right? Maybe even the grisly murders of someone you just met? He makes a mental note to search the internet sometime later to check if that qualifies.

He wipes a hand on his forehead and almost screams again because it comes out bloodied. He turns his head to look at the edge of his bed, as strands of hair peeking out catches his attention, and he sees a familiar girl bathed in her own blood, face streaked with tears and blonde hair matted with blood, hand outstretched and pleading for help, the shimmer caused by the refraction of the lampshade’s light on the golden band on her ring finger almost blinding Chanyeol’s eyes.

And as he had screamed in his dream, he also screams in real life.

∞∝∞∝

“Come over here and help me,” Chanyeol pleads to Baekhyun over the phone, “I can’t deal with this alone, okay. I’m probably going to shit in my pants now.”

“Whoah, whoah, whoah!Hol’ up,” Baekhyun raises up a hand to stop the younger man’s blabbering even though it looks so stupid and uncool because he’s acting out on his own, seeming as if he was right in front of Chanyeol. It was one of his hard-to-forget-and-replace habits. “So what are we talking about exactly?” He asks once Chanyeol seems to have simmered down a bit and he slides his legs down the mattress, easily slipping on his slippers. _What does he probably want? It’s the middle of the night, for Pete’s sake!_

“That girl in your apartment earlier… She’s here.” He hisses, his voice hinting fear. This was what scared Baekhyun—this was why he never let anyone near him, why he would always shut himself down whenever someone tries to make friends with him. He would probably ruin someone else’s life again, just like he had ruined his own. He doesn’t want that to happen anymore.

“I’ll come over your house in ten. Hang in there,” he says, but he has already slipped into his coat, not bothering to change out of his sleeping garments. He runs out into the night and jumps on his trusted motorcycle, his entire body wracking with zips of nervous energy.

∞∝∞∝

Baekhyun squints at the figure huddled in front of the door that he has known to be Park Chanyeol’s. “Chanyeol?” he flicks his wrist for the flashlight’s glow to illuminate the figures features. Dark brown eyes welcome him, and he feels pity upon seeing the all-too-familiar emotion flickering across those eyes, for he has seen those in the eyes of the people that found out about Kyungsoo. _Fear._

Chanyeol stands up and grips Baekhyun’s shoulders tightly, almost tight enough to stop the circulation of blood in his veins. “Baek, you need to help me,” Chanyeol shakes the older man in fits of hysteria. “She’s going to kill me.”  
Baekhyun touches his cheeks, giving him a sad smile. “No, she won’t. I promise.”

∞∝∞∝

“Hyoyeon,” Baekhyun tries to keep his voice firm despite feeling shaky himself. Chanyeol trails behind him, large hands gripping the hem of his shirt like a scared five-year old kid. “What do you need?”

The girl turns around slowly, clothes soiled and drenched in blood. The kind look in her eyes is back, and Baekhyun sees only something akin to sadness despite the blood that trickled down the sides of her lips. She raises a bloody hand, and Baekhyun steps forward, opening his hand palm-up. A gold ring falls on his open palm.

∞∝∞∝

“I’m sorry about what happened to your girlfriend,” Baekhyun says in a low voice and Chanyeol mumbles in agreement.  
The guy shakes his head, eyes going glassy at the hint of tears. “I’m just thankful that you found her. We’ve been looking for weeks, and everyone already gave up, thinking it was a lost cause,” he sniffles, scratching his nose to hide his embarrassment of budding tears. Two gold bands glimmer in his ring finger. One soiled and dirty, the other clean. “But I never gave up because I knew that we’ll be able to find her.” _Even if she’s already dead._ The unsaid statement hangs in the air.

He takes Baekhyun’s hand in his, surprising the young lad. Chanyeol makes a move forward but stops as he thinks about it, raking his fingers through his hair instead. “Thank you for finding her when nobody else can”  
Baekhyun smiles.

∞∝∞∝

Baekhyun has his head down, trudging fast. Chanyeol catches up, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. “So, can you explain what happened back there?”

Baekhyun looks away, determined not to look the younger one in the eye. He looks at everywhere but Chanyeol. “You could hate me now.” He said in a hushed tone that Chanyeol almost missed it.

Chanyeol blinks. “But why would I hate you?”

“Because I got you into this mess.” It puzzles Chanyeol how sure Baekhyun is that he was the sole reason behind all the commotion, when he clearly wasn’t involved in the crime.

“Eyy,” Chanyeol wraps an arm around Baekhyun. The latter’s back eases up a bit at the gesture. “It’s not your fault that I’m really attractive that even ghosts like to chase after me.”

Baekhyun hits his arm with a light punch, but the lines of worry that creased his forehead earlier were now starting to fade. “No you idiot, it’s really my fault. You see, the problem is I see ghosts.” Finally, _finally_ , Baekhyun looks at him. “They ask me for help, blah blah blah. But not exactly all of them are friendly.”

A chill goes down Chanyeol’s spine, but he is ready to listen to Baekhyun’s story. He always has been, but he was only waiting for Baekhyun to open up. And now that Chanyeol has the chance, his ears are ready to listen.

∞∝∞∝

The summer after Baekhyun turned sixteen, the sun was shining brightly overhead, a perfect day for a field trip. Students were excitedly chattering about what they were going to do next when they finally arrive in Jeju Island, some chatting animatedly about that newly-released game console, while some keeping to themselves. The color of the clear blue sky is illuminated in the ocean, birds chirping overhead.

Baekhyun beams up at Kyungsoo. “Kyungsoo, let’s take pictures later, okay? I finally remembered to bring a camera along this time.”

Kyungsoo tears his look away from the window, returning Baekhyun’s smile. “Sure,” he replies shortly. Baekhyun couldn’t blame him, he was known to be a man of a few words, after all. Most people usually misunderstand that Do Kyungsoo was angry at the world because of his usual poker-face and the fact that he rarely even talks. Some had even the gall to spread rumors that Kyungsoo was the leader of a cult that worships Satan. Kyungsoo reassured them then that no, he wasn’t heading a cult of Satanists but was instead spearheading a tea club that was meant to hold tea parties with Satan every sixth day of the sixth month at exactly 6 pm.

There was a great tremor in the bus as it hits the barrier by the side of the bridge, and both males look at each other in horror. They held each other’s hands, whispers of “Don’t let go, okay” and “Yes, I won’t.” coming out from their lips. The bus plunges into the depths of the blue ocean.

Baekhyun opens his eyes as a rescuer pumps his chest, spitting out the water that has filled his lungs. He gasps and rolls over, spittle hanging over his lips. The rescuer proceeds to help out the person beside Baekhyun, and cries out in frustration because he wasn’t able to save another kid’s poor soul. But he couldn’t stay there; more lives were wasting by the minute. He runs to the other side to help his workmates haul over bodies to the shore.

Baekhyun wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sobs the instant he sees the face of the person beside him, staring up at him with blank, glassy eyes.

It was Kyungsoo.

∞∝∞∝

Baekhyun slumps over his table, feeling heavy with guilt. He should’ve been the one that died; it shouldn’t have to be Kyungsoo. If only the rescuer had chosen to help Kyungsoo first, Baekhyun wouldn’t have been drowning in culpability now, feeling like he’s the worst best friend anyone could ever have.

Moisture creeps into his skin, and he shifts in his position, feeling a bit odd because he isn’t crying. Well at least, not yet. He notices that water is starting to sidle towards him, and he turns his head to look at what was the source of the liquid seeping towards him. An all-too familiar face looks back at him, too close for comfort; a face that, as far as he knows, is peacefully inside the casket a few meters from him. He jolts up with a startled squeak, and the people around him look at him accusatorily, shushing at him to keep quiet as it was a sign of disrespect to the dead to make such noises during the time of mourning in a wake. He bows his head down sheepishly and goes out the door, not fully understanding the message that Kyungsoo wanted to convey to him.

∞∝∞∝

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A memory buried six feet below the ground, a face that can only be recalled through dried up tears and choked sobs, a name spoken only in whispers; that was what he had become._

∞∝∞∝

Chanyeol brings out a deck of cards from his pants pocket, splaying the cards out on top of his left palm for the crowd to see. “A few years ago, someone asked me a question,” he bends down a bit so that the people in front of the makeshift platform he was standing on could have a better view of the cards. “How do you do magic?”

A little girl who appears to be around the age of seven steps forward, her tiny fingers gripping the edge of the wooden platform in anticipation, eyes twinkling with an inexorable level of eagerness. He smiles at the little girl, showing off a row of perfectly-aligned pearly white teeth — contrasting with the fact that most of the people gathered in that place probably thought that he was just some random junkie, or maybe a hobo who may have had a few tricks up his sleeve that had decided to liven it up a bit by becoming a street performer. “Well: how?”

Chanyeol stands up straighter and arranges the cards into a single deck, neatly shuffling them before tucking them carefully in his hands to keep them in order. “Well, as far as I could remember, there are only three steps to that,” the look on the faces of several people says that they couldn’t care less; some look at him sternly, as if channeling their thoughts to him that they wouldn’t believe a single thing he says. The children, however, were straining their ears to hear more of what he had to say, craning their necks to see every move that he would make.

A lot of times, Chanyeol misses being a kid: it was easier to believe then, easier to dispel the thoughts of hesitation bugging his mind. At this time in life, it was easy to doubt everything, as people his age would always judge things based on cold, hard facts, not wanting to believe in anything that they couldn’t see with their naked eyes.

“First, you would have to close your eyes.” He himself closes his eyes at this point, and he doesn’t need to take a peek to know that the children were closing their eyes, too. Chanyeol is able to sense that even some teenagers and a few adults are joining them, even though those who chose to keep their eyes wide open are giving them looks of indifference. Maybe these people just did it for the heck of it, but maybe it was also because that some part of them still believed, too, as much as he and the children did. Or at least, that was what Chanyeol was thinking.

“The second step is for you to take a deep breath,” he is not able to help but smile as he hears a collective amount of people taking deep breaths along with his own. “And the third… well, that’s the hardest part. You see,” he opens his eyes and blinks, adjusting his vision to accommodate the harsh lights focusing on him. “You have to open your eyes,” he waits for the people open their eyes just as he said before finishing his little speech. “And just… _believe_.”

His hands immediately move to the deck cupped in his hands. He shakes it once, twice, thrice for good measure, and opens his cupped hands, only to come up empty-handed, with not a single card in sight. Murmurs come from the crowd, buzzing in his ears as bees during spring would. However, he still has another trick up his sleeve.

He positions his right hand parallel to his body and waves it sideways, slowly at first. Once, twice, thrice, and with a flick of a wrist, a card appears,wedged in between his index and middle fingers. He does it for another one, two, three times, and after three more cards appear, he splays his hands in the general direction of the audience in a grand gesture, and a whole bunch of cards pours out of his previously empty hands, raining on the crowd, all having the same marks on the back as the other cards he kept showing earlier had, and with a single silver ‘C’ circumscribed inside a silver circle at the other side, where the card’s number was supposed to be.

A familiar figure slips silently past the crowd, stopping by in front of the stage to give him a knowing smile. Chanyeol spots him immediately, clad in skintight jeans, a glittering blue jacket donned over his plain black shirt. One would never miss such a sight, after all. Funny how someone changes in the course of a year, when all you ever used to want was for the day to end immediately, to click the fast forward button and get to the point of it all. But now, after everything that had happened, he knows that what matters the most is the present. Because once you pass by the opportunity, it will never come by again. Lightning never strikes the same place twice, right?

“Oh look: here he is.”Chanyeol smiles back, and in the eyes of the person that was grinning back at him in a mesmerized manner, despite the cold weather and the fact that is nighttime already, Chanyeol was, and will always be the rising sun: always beaming, always giving warmth, always shining brighter than anyone ever does.

But of course, there would always come a time that the sun would set, its brilliant glow dimming.

∞∝∞∝

Chanyeol lives for the applause. Well, not literally. He had been brought into this world crying because of a few pats on the butt as all babies do, after all. He was even born to a rich family of business tycoons: his father being a corporate mogul at some company that he didn’t care to know about, his mother an entrepreneur, running a restaurant with the help of his older sister. Yet the gratifying feeling he gets whenever he hears the approbation of almost a hundred people gathered in front of him every night shown through collective claps and uplifting cheers was nothing compared to the number of things he could buy in exchange for signed checks and the _cha-chings_ of cash registers when swiped with black credits cards.

For a start, he performs the most basic trick of them all: a simple sleight of hand, making a card disappear and reappear in his hand. The children in the crowd are amazed, the older ones simply amused. A voice breaks through the cheers from the cluster of people, shattering the jovial atmosphere. “That’s just a simple trick; it’s easy to do that.”

All heads turn to face the person that uncouthly interrupted the show. A man wearing a sweater a few sizes too large for him that looks as if it was handed down to him by an uncle decades older than he is was in plain sight, not being able to hide from the judgmental stares that the people were giving him. The man covered his mouth, eyes widening in shock as what he did registered in his brain. It was but a slip of tongue, to be blamed for his inability to have complete control over the things he says out loud.

Chanyeol smiles at him in an attempt to cover up the whole situation. “Is it possible then that you show to us how it is properly done, Mr…?” he ends with an inquisitive look, not knowing what name he’s supposed to address the stranger with.

The stranger huffs indignantly, pride hurt by the challenge. “Byun. Byun Baekhyun,” he declares. “And I pretty much well know how to perform a basic magic trick, thank you very much.”

“Very well then, Mr. Byun, I’m Chanyeol. But that’s not very important right now,” Chanyeol’s smile widens, and the guy— Baekhyun —is not sure if he’s supposed to be irritated by the look the magician was giving him, or crept out by that blinding smile. Maybe because the street performer was, by so far, the most handsome creature that he had come across with. “And please, don’t tell us: show us.”

“Oh yeah, well maybe I will,” Baekhyun mumbles, and the crowd parts as quickly as Moses had parted the red sea, making way so that the daring male would be able to pass by. He places both hands on the dusty, wooden makeshift stage and hoists himself up, ignoring the magician’s hand in the process in the latter’s attempt to help him. He rolls up the sleeves of his sweater, showing quite an expanse of milky white skin, and Chanyeol is not able to resist the urge to stare at Baekhyun’s beautiful fingers as the man thrusts his open palm in front of Chanyeol for the magician to hand the deck of cards over.

Chanyeol gets a grip of himself and figuratively slaps himself awake as he hands the deck of cards to the waiting hand of Baekhyun. Baekhyun’s hands move gracefully as he shuffles the deck, picks up a card, and shows it to the crowd. _Ace of Diamonds_.He places the card on the flat on top of his palm, vertical to his pulse, with the white surface marked in red face-up. He wedges the edges of the card between his pinkie and ring finger, and then between his middle and index finger respectively, and with nimble digits, flips the card so that it was then hidden at the back of his hand. He repeats the motion, bringing the card forward.

“Magic is only magic because of the grandiose hand gestures that these people make,” Baekhyun starts, glancing at Chanyeol. “With fast hands, a flick of a wrist, a tap,” he taps the card on his palm, “and a snap,” he snaps the fingers of his free hand, a grin starting to spread on his face as he performs the trick with such speed that the audience wasn’t able to see his sleight of hand. “Abracadabra.”

The people shake their heads in disbelief, some walking away with smug grins on their faces, I-told-you-so’s coming from their lips, while some looked downright disappointed, the feeling of their childhood being taken away from them imminent in the cold winter air.

The smile on Baekhyun’s face falters as he sees the unequivocally sad expression on Chanyeol’s face at a ruined show, his future prospects of hearing more applauses meant for him gradually slimming down in front of his eyes. Baekhyun didn’t know what to say, so he fumbles for the hem of his sweatshirt with one hand as he hands back the deck of cards to Chanyeol with the other. “I-I’m sorry about your show, I was just trying to prove my point—“

The deck of cards mockingly swims in Chanyeol’s vision. “And did you?” he says quietly, staring at the cards as if he could set it on fire just by looking at it, intent on not looking at Baekhyun.

Baekhyun blinks in confusion. “Did I….?”

“Prove your point,” Chanyeol finishes numbly. The look of disappointment on those children’s eyes were haunting him.  
Baekhyun nibbles at his bottom lip, squirming in discomfort and fiddling with a loose thread hanging at the hem of his sweater. “For a while, I thought so. But now… I’m not quite sure.”

The winter wind blows, making the two shiver as they are immersed in awkward silence. Finally, Baekhyun speaks up, breaking the taciturn atmosphere. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

That was all Chanyeol needed. “Be my assistant. For a hundred days.”

Baekhyun’s eyes widened. “C’mon, you can’t be serious about that!”

Chanyeol looks at him—really looks at him—for the first time, and thinks that the man also had beautiful eyes that all the while makes him look more beautiful, despite his ratty sweater and jeans. “Do I look like I’m joking?”  
“Oh, c’mon!” disbelief flits over Baekhyun’s face. “Magic isn’t even real!”

Chanyeol gives him the evil eye. “Yes, it is.”

“Then how do you do magic?” Baekhyun asks him. He only comes up with three, but it was enough.

∞∝∞∝

Baekhyun wakes up with a start, sweaty and panting from another nightmare. He wipes away the cold beads of perspiration that had formed in his forehead and covers his face, pressing his slim fingers at the sides of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. “Not this shit again,” he groans.

Eight years ago, he had made a mantra. This time, he repeats the mantra once more, again and again until he was welcomed once more by his subconscious, the darkness of oblivion draping over him like a second skin—a curtain pulled down after the end of a show.

_“Tear away the pages of that book. Throw them away. Don’t ever look back. Forget.  
And start all over again.”_

But he never gets halfway through following his mantra, for the past always has ways of catching up on him.  
He doesn’t sleep peacefully that night. But then again, when did he ever?

∞∝∞∝

Has it already been 100 days? Both Baekhyun and Chanyeol had lost count already. But did that still even matter anymore?

“Can you believe it Jongdae? He just keeps bugging me every single night to have dinner with him and the other show’s staff. I mean, can he just not get a hint?” Baekhyun chats animatedly over the phone, as if he was actually talking in front of his friend Jongdae. They’ve been close friends since middle school, but they weren’t seeing much of each other for the past eight years. Not ever since that incident.

Jongdae stops scribbling on his notebook and sets the pen down as he rolls his eyes sardonically. “Oh stop it Baek, don’t be such a prima donna. I know that you like him. I can smell it from here.”

He smiles when he senses Baekhyun fluster. Even if they haven’t seen each other for a long time, they’ve been friends for quite some time that he knows how Baekhyun reacts to the things he says. “No I don’t like him. And no, I’m not being a prima donna, I’m just being practical.” He could practically feel Baekhyun’s face heating up, as if they were simply seated down in a café in front of one another, espressos in hand as Jongdae listens to every Baekhyun’s chatter. “You know the situation I’m in.”

“Wow, practical. Big word. Listen to yourself, Mr. Byun Baekhyun. Do you hear it? Do you hear the complaints that every definition of the word ‘practical’ from every legit dictionary that exists are spluttering out? Because last time I checked, buying clothes from luxury brands to wear for a date and then ending up not wearing them anyway isn’t the practical way.”

“That was eight years ago Jongdae,” there was an edge to Baekhyun’s voice, and Jongdae knew that he’s hit a spot, leaving Baekhyun to reminisce the past again. “A lot of things have changed.”

Jongdae sighs. Why did _that_ even have to happen? And why did it have to be Baekhyun, of all people? “Listen, Baek, friendly advice: please stop cooping yourself up inside your house.”

Baekhyun shifts to make himself more comfortable in his position seated in the couch, television turned on despite the fact that no one was watching it, remote carelessly tossed beside a throw pillow near him. He glances at the picture delicately framed and placed on top of a mahogany table beside his 14-inched television screen. Three people smiled back at him from that picture. He shivers, knowing well he wouldn’t be able to see even the ghost of a smile of one of those people anymore.

“I _am_ going out, Jongdae. I have a job. How do you think I’m paying for my food?”

Jongdae grins from the great amounts of sarcasm that was dripping from Baekhyun’s voice. Some things never change. “Are you kidding me? You might be going out, but when was the last time you interacted with anyone?” Baekhyun almost answers back, but Jongdae cuts him off just in time, knowing very well what his retort would be. “No, you’re obviously only talking to other people when they are either asking for directions or are talking to you regarding your job.”

Baekhyun groans inwardly. “When did you even get to have so much insight? Are you stalking me?”

Jongdae laughs and Baekhyun’s lips twitch to form a small smile. He rubs his forehead and closes his eyes, remembering the times when everything was just plain monochrome and not a bunch of interlocking color wheels. Baekhyun blames himself for trying too hard to come up with a nice portrait of his life, trying so hard to make it look so beautiful and experimenting with every tube of paint he could get his hands on but ending up smudging everything up in the process and making it look a lot more than worse. He blames himself for wishing for his life to stop staying a plain shade of black and white and for it to start having his desired splashes of color, even though he knew that might not achieve the perfect rainbow painting that he has always wanted. He always regrets trying to color up his life, for the canvas has turned black from all the paint he has desperately poured out. Now, all he wishes is to be able to erase the blotches of gray in the canvass dipped in all black and start anew.

“Ew no, why would I stalk you?” Jongdae scoffs. “I’m too fabulous for that. And I think you already know the reason why I have such great insight.”

Baekhyun raises an eyebrow. “Because you’re a twat?”

“No, that’s you. You’ve been quite forgetful. It’s all because I am the epitome of epic-ness.”

Baekhyun howls in laughter. “I’m pretty sure you’re just imagining things. AGAIN.” _Just like all those times_ , he almost adds, but somehow, he felt the air shift, leaving cold trails in its wake and sending shivers down his spine.

Something shifts in the shadows, and Baekhyun’s smile falters, thinking that he’s seeing things again. But that’s not really the case, because he’s _always_ seeing things, and wouldn’t that make him qualified to be a nut job? “Uhm, I’ll call you back, okay.” He turns off his phone before Jongdae could even protest.

Baekhyun stands up and walks forward, looking from left to right. A sudden gleam catches his eye, and he turns to its direction, only to bump his leg in the edge of the table. He rubs the sore spot and bends lower, coming face-to-face with the picture frame. Baekhyun was in the middle and Jongdae was on his left. But it was the man on the right side of his picture that catches his attention. The man suddenly moves and beckons him forward, eyes boring into his skull, staring at him gravely.

Baekhyun falls on his butt and screams, scrambling to get away as fast as he can.

∞∝∞∝

A memory buried six feet below the ground, a face that can only be recalled through dried up tears and choked sobs, a name spoken only in whispers; that was what Do Kyungsoo had become.

But to ByunBaekhyun, Kyungsoo was, and is, late night visits from an old friend that has a sickly pallor, skin looking like chalk that could be broken down to sediments anytime, always wearing the same clothes from 8 years ago, and always, always dripping wet.

∞∝∞∝

When Jongdae had advised him to try out having his fortune told by a certain Zhang Yixing, he wasn’t expecting a skinny guy clad in white overalls, as if he was going to get a painting job done and decided on the last minute to go wear a pair of wings made out of cotton and tissue paper stuck on cardboard that spanned longer than his arms, the central part attached to brown leather tightly strapped around his shoulders for good measure, to greet him in front of a booth that seemed no bigger than a stall in a comfort room. It looked like he wore it to some costume party years back and decided to use the opportunity to recycle it. Baekhyun thinks he might have contemplated on wearing a halo attached to a headband at some point.

Baekhyun returns the man’s dimply smile with his own uneasy one, making a note to send Kyungsoo’s wrath upon Jongdae so that he could suffer the same fate. Yixing ushers Baekhyun inside the booth specifically made for Yixing’s divination (or so he was told), and Baekhyun puts his head down, determined not to let the people milling around in front of the booth see him (but knowing that the booth was cramped in a small space at the farthest corner of Yixing’s dance studio while his students are still doing warm-up exercises, staring at them from moment they entered, Baekhyun knew that it would have to be categorized as unsuccessful).Baekhyun made another mental note to stab Jongdae for not telling him beforehand that he would have to deal with a dance instructor confused of where to put up his divining booth for a sideline.

The wooden beads hanging in the doorway jingle as he enters and he is painfully reminded of the witch doctor that he had consulted over three years ago, the awful smell coming from the smoke of the old man’s tobacco still lingering in his nose. He recalls the minty scent of the rosemary plant that the old man had chopped up and burned in offering, and almost laughed upon finding out in the internet that the man used the wrong plant for exorcising.

Baekhyun takes a seat on top of a fluffy purple cushion printed with unicorn patterns as Yixing had indicated him to, and in moments, he comes face-to-face with a dimpled guy that very much reminds him of an angel that he frequently sees in movies, albeit the costume. Yixing claps his hands together. “Okay then, shall we begin?”Baekhyun nods in approval.

“I see darkness,” his eyes were closed, and Baekhyun had to pinch his arm to stop himself from saying that out loud. “Nothing but darkness—a great expanse of black, and nothing more. You need to offer a dance to the gods and send a silent prayer for them to help me see through the future better.” Baekhyun stares at Yixing, dumbfounded.

Yixing cracks an eye open, only enough to check if Baekhyun was moving or not. “So, are you going to do it or not?”  
Baekhyun heaves a sigh, all rational thought leaving him. “I suppose,” he stands up, stretching his arms and legs in the process. “What dance do I have to do?”

“SNSD’s Genie.”Yixing mumbles, eyes still closed.

“What. WHAT. WHAAAAT??!”

Yixing’s eyes flutter open. “Shush, stop yelling. It ruins the peaceful vibe. It’s either that, or Sistar’s Ma Boy,” he raises an eyebrow at Baekhyun. “But either way, I’m okay. I’m cool with seeing you do body rolls and choosing them over a dance that I’ve seen loads of times already.”

Baekhyun sighs. Jongdae better pay for getting him into this mess.With his life, preferably.And an all-you-can-eat buffet in a fancy restaurant.

“Ah, now I’m seeing it!” Yixing’s hands begin to tremble on top of the table as soon as Baekhyun had started dancing. “Kyungsoo’s mad. Really mad.As in fuming mad.” Baekhyun scoffs. As if the nightly visits that he receives from Kyungsoo isn’t enough proof of that. “He’ll kill you. Probably in a few months or so.The end. That’ll be a hundred bucks, by the way.” Yixing stands abruptly and Baekhyun almost chokes with his own spit from the diviner’s boldness, when the man has even hardly got him anything done.

“I’m so done with you, Kim Jongdae.” Baekhyun mutters over the phone as he goes out of the booth, Jongdae’s number flashing on the screen as the phone of the dialed number rings. The only thing that had happened today was that he came up a hundred dollars short from when he came in.

∞∝∞∝

Baekhyun shoves the door close right in front of Chanyeol’s face. “You’re not welcome here, go away.”

Chanyeol simply chuckles. “But I’m your boss.”

Chanyeol hears a distinct, “Today’s a Saturday, so technically that’s not the case,” Chanyeol sighs, turning the doorknob to the right. He hears a click, signaling that the door has opened. He pushes it open, letting himself in, surprised that Baekhyun hasn’t thought of locking the door up or blocking it with his body. He sees Baekhyun staring off into the distance, facing a great expanse of land outside his window. “Baek?” he calls.

Baekhyun almost jumps up in surprise. “How’d you get in?”

“Uhm, I used the door?” Chanyeol tilts his head to the side, an amused smile playing on his lips.

Baekhyun slits his eyes, a look of accusation clearly written all over his face. “You broke in, didn’t you?” It was not a question, but simply a statement; a declaration of facts that might be observed from miles away.

Chanyeol clutched at his heart, feigning a look of hurt. “I am offended that you think of me that way,” to which Baekhyun mutters an “Oh don’t think you’re so special, I treat everyone this way,” in response. Chanyeol rolls his eyes. “You left the door unlocked, dimwit.”

Baekhyun gives him a sidelong glance. Judging, contemplating. Believing that Park Chanyeol deserves to have his instagram account unfollowed and blocked. “Says the one who trips on his own shoes and chokes on air,” He moves to toward Chanyeol and curtsies in mockery. “So what can I do for you, dear good sir? It would be my honor and privilege to serve you.”

Chanyeol scoffs indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest. “May I remind you that I could get you fired any time of the day?” _And if it wasn’t for me, no one would’ve even thought of following you on twitter._

Baekhyun’s eyebrow cocks up with jeer. “I’d like to see you try.” He turns to leave, with Chanyeol muttering “God, you’re such an insufferable brat, why do I keep putting up with you?” But Baekhyun calls midway through the door leading to another room, asking “What drink would you want?”

Chanyeol’s eyes widen in realization at what Baekhyun had asked, because whenever Baekhyun was done serving the purpose of being his assistant, the guy was either avoiding him like the plague or being a repulsive little piece of shit. This was a new development in their relationship, Chanyeol thinks. Maybe he will have something to look forward to in their next show.

His thoughts is disturbed by a faint squeak beside him, and he is surprised when he turns to see that there is a girl standing only a few meters away from him, hands covering half of her face in embarrassment. She is standing by the coat rack, long, blonde hair falling perfectly over her shoulders.

Chanyeol is left dumbstruck at the girl’s presence. As far as he knows, Baekhyun doesn’t have any friends. But then again, he doesn’t know Baekhyun that much, really. Except for the fact that Baekhyun was a 24 year old guy that only wears sweats even when he goes out and about (with the only exception being the times when they have a show because no way in hell would Chanyeol let Baekhyun stand beside him and help him with tricks while wearing clothes that look more like rags), he still remains as an enigmatic presence. “Oh hello there,” Chanyeol gives her a smile that he hopes is kind and reassuring enough to not scare her off, “I’m sorry, I haven’t noticed you earlier. What’s your name?”

The girl simply stares at him, unmoving. Chanyeol sheepishly grins and scratches the back of his head, embarrassed. “I’m Chanyeol, by the way. I’m Baekhyun’s friend. Or something like that,” he licks his lips, a habit he usually displays whenever he’s nervous or is trying to break the tension in the air, “Are you his friend too?”

The girl lets down her hands offering him a timid smile, and Chanyeol thinks that _damn, this girl is quite a beauty_. But she didn’t strike him as someone who he’d court, much unlike the impact that Baekhyun had made when they first met. He mentally slaps himself for thinking about that last part. “You could… say that.”

Chanyeol’s grin widens when she answers, thanking his social skills that made the unease in the air fade away. “I’m Hyoyeon, by the way.” She casually says, now looking more comfortable than she’s been earlier. The sound of glass breaking disrupts the friendly vibe coursing between them, and Chanyeol turns to find Baekhyun standing by the doorway of what he had assumed as the kitchen, hands covering his mouth, expression unreadable.

Chanyeol dashes off to him. “Baek, are you alright? Are you hurt somewhere?” a crunching sound makes its way to Chanyeol’s ears as he steps on shards of broken glass, orange liquid ebbing around it. “Aish, Baekhyun. How many times do I have to tell you to be careful? Wait here, I’m going to go get something to clean this up.” He totters to the door, trying to navigate his way around an unfamiliar kitchen.

As Chanyeol turns to leave, he doesn’t notice the sudden shift in the atmosphere, the temperature going down several degrees lower as Baekhyun tries the hardest not to gag at the sight in front of him.

A woman with long blonde hair framing her face is looking back at him, and he could still see her beauty despite the long gash that runs along her forehead and the gaping wounds in her stomach, probably caused by several stabs from a knife. She smiles at him, and he could see her aura shift, changing into something much more sinister than what he usually sees on people. _She is a ghost_.All of the alarms in his mind start going off, alerting him of danger.

A trickle of blood suddenly drips from a corner of her mouth, and her smile widens, only to show blood-drenched teeth. The blood continues to flow from the corners of her mouth, and Baekhyun’s hands tremble in fear, even though this wasn’t the first time that he has dealt with beings like her.

Her mouth moves to form words, coming out as more of a croak than an actual sentence. Help me.

∞∝∞∝

Chanyeol turns to face the direction he had come from, a playful smile on his lips. “Are you following me?” the girl’s eyes widen in shock at the knowledge that she had been discovered (although her stalking skills were too poor and she was too obvious to not be discovered). She shakes her head furiously before running away, back to Baekhyun’s house. Chanyeol laughs and shakes his head, amused at how his new acquaintance is behaving. He continues walking and rides his car, a smile still playing itself on his lips. He muses when he’ll go back to Baekhyun’s house to pester him once more. He settles for a week as he pulls out of the driveway, humming to a tune that sounds way too familiar.

If he had just looked at the rear view mirror, he would’ve seen the girl stopping at the doorsteps of Baekhyun home and walking back the way she had come, trailing behind Chanyeol’s car in slow, easy paces, blood dripping from the hem of her skirt down to the stone pavement.

∞∝∞∝

Byun Baekhyun smiles widely to something he had just said and it was all he could do not to jump in happiness, for it was one of these rare moments that he sees Baekhyun completely happy. Baekhyun laughs and touches his arm, but because of what, he couldn’t remember. But at this moment, he is contented with hearing Baekhyun’s laugh and having Baekhyun near him. He hopes this doesn’t end.

But his wish was in vain, for the person in front of him was suddenly Hyoyeon, the girl that he had met earlier at Baekhyun’s apartment. He takes a step back, alarmed at the sudden change, stuttering nonsense. But she doesn’t seem to notice him, and she continues to frantically look around, as if she was in search of something. He hears screams from behind her, and they both look back to see a round, balding guy in his mid-fifties lumbering towards their direction, a sharp knife in hand. She looks back at him, cries of help ripping the peaceful aura of the meadow they were in. She runs, and he runs alongside her, screaming with her, asking her to please explain what the fuck was happening because he has no fucking idea what he has gotten himself into.

But alas, Hyoyeon trips upon a tree branch, and Chanyeol doesn’t need to be a doctor to know that she sprains her ankle in the process. The man licks his lips, laughing a maniacal laugh that strangely sounds like screeching tires and conspiring crows to Chanyeol’s ears.

Hyoyeon pushes herself up with shaking arms, ignoring the sharp pain in her ankle and walking limply across the meadow. Chanyeol rushes to her aid, thinking that she could escape faster if he carried her on his back, but it was of no use, for an invisible barrier kept them apart, Chanyeol hitting it head-on before he could figure out its existence. He slams his hands at the unseen barrier, fists clenching as the pounding gets stronger. But he couldn’t do anything as the man easily catches up to Hyoyeon, grabbing her by the wrist and forcing her to lie on the ground. Chanyeol could merely watch in horror as she struggles to free herself from the man’s forceful grip, pouring every ounce of energy she has left on fending him off. Annoyed, the man picks up a large stone about the size of his palm and drives it down her forehead with a loud crunch, rendering her unconscious.

Chanyeol’s stomach protests at such a gruesome sight, and he kneels on the ground, clutching his stomach as he pukes out his dinner. Tears brim his vision and he closes his eyes, believing that he should calm himself down first before trying to act up on the situation. He wipes his mouth dry with the back of a wobbly hand, the acid from his stomach threatening to clog his throat once more. He keeps his eyes closed as he hears the sound of shuffling and moaning, and more of that as the man throws away Hyoyeon’s dignity with a snap of a finger. Chanyeol’s body trembles and he sinks lower on the ground, remembering the way Hyoyeon had smiled up at him that day. He feels sick to the core, disgusted by how a man could behave.

Scientists had said that humans were the best—the superior race above all from kingdom Animalia, but take away all the comfort and luxury he’s been living with and give him a trigger to start from, doesn’t he become even worse than the wild apes of the Amazon? Doesn’t he act more savagely than the predators of the Savannah?

His head snaps up when he hears a scream—or more like a roar—escape the man’s lips, and he spots a shadow lurking behind a tree before it stalks off, away from the meadow and toward the deeper recesses of the forest, the bestial man running in pursuit of his new victim. Of course, there shouldn’t be any witnesses left to fight off against him, right?

Chanyeol takes this as his cue to run to Hyoyeon and sure enough, the barrier was gone. He kneels down beside her body, disgusted at himself for not being able to help her out. The kindness that he once saw in her features disappeared, her eyes turning into glassy orbs, staring blankly far beyond him. His hand hovers above her face, wanting to close her eyes to make it look as if she was just sleeping, but he stops dead cold when a hand clamps tightly around his wrist.

He looks down to find a bloody hand, a gold ring gleaming in one of its fingers. _It was Hyoyeon’s._

He pulls his hand back in great shock and lands butt-first on the grass.

Help me, the word echoes in his mind from her pursed lips. Help me, pleads her blank eyes. Help me, a voice buzzes in the meadows. Help me, the wind blows harshly in his direction. Chanyeol does what every sane man stuck in his position would do.

He screams.

∞∝∞∝

He wakes up panting, perspiration covering his entire torso, beads of sweat trickling down his face. He looks around to find out that yes, it had only been a nightmare, and yes, he’s still tucked in his blue bed sheet, sleeping on his insanely comfortable bed in his insanely incredible room.

He reaches over and flicks the switch of the lampshade on top of his bedside table on just to make sure. Light floods the four corners of his room, and his breathing slows down to a steady rhythm as he calms himself down, telling himself over and over again that it had just been a nightmare. Everyone had had their fair share of nightmares, right? Maybe even the grisly murders of someone you just met? He makes a mental note to search the internet sometime later to check if that qualifies.

He wipes a hand on his forehead and almost screams again because it comes out bloodied. He turns his head to look at the edge of his bed, as strands of hair peeking out catches his attention, and he sees a familiar girl bathed in her own blood, face streaked with tears and blonde hair matted with blood, hand outstretched and pleading for help, the shimmer caused by the refraction of the lampshade’s light on the golden band on her ring finger almost blinding Chanyeol’s eyes.

And as he had screamed in his dream, he also screams in real life.

∞∝∞∝

“Come over here and help me,” Chanyeol pleads to Baekhyun over the phone, “I can’t deal with this alone, okay. I’m probably going to shit in my pants now.”

“Whoah, whoah, whoah!Hol’ up,” Baekhyun raises up a hand to stop the younger man’s blabbering even though it looks so stupid and uncool because he’s acting out on his own, seeming as if he was right in front of Chanyeol. It was one of his hard-to-forget-and-replace habits. “So what are we talking about exactly?” He asks once Chanyeol seems to have simmered down a bit and he slides his legs down the mattress, easily slipping on his slippers. _What does he probably want? It’s the middle of the night, for Pete’s sake!_

“That girl in your apartment earlier… She’s here.” He hisses, his voice hinting fear. This was what scared Baekhyun—this was why he never let anyone near him, why he would always shut himself down whenever someone tries to make friends with him. He would probably ruin someone else’s life again, just like he had ruined his own. He doesn’t want that to happen anymore.

“I’ll come over your house in ten. Hang in there,” he says, but he has already slipped into his coat, not bothering to change out of his sleeping garments. He runs out into the night and jumps on his trusted motorcycle, his entire body wracking with zips of nervous energy.

∞∝∞∝

Baekhyun squints at the figure huddled in front of the door that he has known to be Park Chanyeol’s. “Chanyeol?” he flicks his wrist for the flashlight’s glow to illuminate the figures features. Dark brown eyes welcome him, and he feels pity upon seeing the all-too-familiar emotion flickering across those eyes, for he has seen those in the eyes of the people that found out about Kyungsoo. _Fear._

Chanyeol stands up and grips Baekhyun’s shoulders tightly, almost tight enough to stop the circulation of blood in his veins. “Baek, you need to help me,” Chanyeol shakes the older man in fits of hysteria. “She’s going to kill me.”  
Baekhyun touches his cheeks, giving him a sad smile. “No, she won’t. I promise.”

∞∝∞∝

“Hyoyeon,” Baekhyun tries to keep his voice firm despite feeling shaky himself. Chanyeol trails behind him, large hands gripping the hem of his shirt like a scared five-year old kid. “What do you need?”

The girl turns around slowly, clothes soiled and drenched in blood. The kind look in her eyes is back, and Baekhyun sees only something akin to sadness despite the blood that trickled down the sides of her lips. She raises a bloody hand, and Baekhyun steps forward, opening his hand palm-up. A gold ring falls on his open palm.

∞∝∞∝

“I’m sorry about what happened to your girlfriend,” Baekhyun says in a low voice and Chanyeol mumbles in agreement.  
The guy shakes his head, eyes going glassy at the hint of tears. “I’m just thankful that you found her. We’ve been looking for weeks, and everyone already gave up, thinking it was a lost cause,” he sniffles, scratching his nose to hide his embarrassment of budding tears. Two gold bands glimmer in his ring finger. One soiled and dirty, the other clean. “But I never gave up because I knew that we’ll be able to find her.” _Even if she’s already dead._ The unsaid statement hangs in the air.

He takes Baekhyun’s hand in his, surprising the young lad. Chanyeol makes a move forward but stops as he thinks about it, raking his fingers through his hair instead. “Thank you for finding her when nobody else can”  
Baekhyun smiles.

∞∝∞∝

Baekhyun has his head down, trudging fast. Chanyeol catches up, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. “So, can you explain what happened back there?”

Baekhyun looks away, determined not to look the younger one in the eye. He looks at everywhere but Chanyeol. “You could hate me now.” He said in a hushed tone that Chanyeol almost missed it.

Chanyeol blinks. “But why would I hate you?”

“Because I got you into this mess.” It puzzles Chanyeol how sure Baekhyun is that he was the sole reason behind all the commotion, when he clearly wasn’t involved in the crime.

“Eyy,” Chanyeol wraps an arm around Baekhyun. The latter’s back eases up a bit at the gesture. “It’s not your fault that I’m really attractive that even ghosts like to chase after me.”

Baekhyun hits his arm with a light punch, but the lines of worry that creased his forehead earlier were now starting to fade. “No you idiot, it’s really my fault. You see, the problem is I see ghosts.” Finally, _finally_ , Baekhyun looks at him. “They ask me for help, blah blah blah. But not exactly all of them are friendly.”

A chill goes down Chanyeol’s spine, but he is ready to listen to Baekhyun’s story. He always has been, but he was only waiting for Baekhyun to open up. And now that Chanyeol has the chance, his ears are ready to listen.

∞∝∞∝

The summer after Baekhyun turned sixteen, the sun was shining brightly overhead, a perfect day for a field trip. Students were excitedly chattering about what they were going to do next when they finally arrive in Jeju Island, some chatting animatedly about that newly-released game console, while some keeping to themselves. The color of the clear blue sky is illuminated in the ocean, birds chirping overhead.

Baekhyun beams up at Kyungsoo. “Kyungsoo, let’s take pictures later, okay? I finally remembered to bring a camera along this time.”

Kyungsoo tears his look away from the window, returning Baekhyun’s smile. “Sure,” he replies shortly. Baekhyun couldn’t blame him, he was known to be a man of a few words, after all. Most people usually misunderstand that Do Kyungsoo was angry at the world because of his usual poker-face and the fact that he rarely even talks. Some had even the gall to spread rumors that Kyungsoo was the leader of a cult that worships Satan. Kyungsoo reassured them then that no, he wasn’t heading a cult of Satanists but was instead spearheading a tea club that was meant to hold tea parties with Satan every sixth day of the sixth month at exactly 6 pm.

There was a great tremor in the bus as it hits the barrier by the side of the bridge, and both males look at each other in horror. They held each other’s hands, whispers of “Don’t let go, okay” and “Yes, I won’t.” coming out from their lips. The bus plunges into the depths of the blue ocean.

Baekhyun opens his eyes as a rescuer pumps his chest, spitting out the water that has filled his lungs. He gasps and rolls over, spittle hanging over his lips. The rescuer proceeds to help out the person beside Baekhyun, and cries out in frustration because he wasn’t able to save another kid’s poor soul. But he couldn’t stay there; more lives were wasting by the minute. He runs to the other side to help his workmates haul over bodies to the shore.

Baekhyun wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sobs the instant he sees the face of the person beside him, staring up at him with blank, glassy eyes.

It was Kyungsoo.

∞∝∞∝

Baekhyun slumps over his table, feeling heavy with guilt. He should’ve been the one that died; it shouldn’t have to be Kyungsoo. If only the rescuer had chosen to help Kyungsoo first, Baekhyun wouldn’t have been drowning in culpability now, feeling like he’s the worst best friend anyone could ever have.

Moisture creeps into his skin, and he shifts in his position, feeling a bit odd because he isn’t crying. Well at least, not yet. He notices that water is starting to sidle towards him, and he turns his head to look at what was the source of the liquid seeping towards him. An all-too familiar face looks back at him, too close for comfort; a face that, as far as he knows, is peacefully inside the casket a few meters from him. He jolts up with a startled squeak, and the people around him look at him accusatorily, shushing at him to keep quiet as it was a sign of disrespect to the dead to make such noises during the time of mourning in a wake. He bows his head down sheepishly and goes out the door, not fully understanding the message that Kyungsoo wanted to convey to him.

∞∝∞∝

  



End file.
